


Clack

by Lempo Soi (Lemposoi)



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Community: kink_bingo, F/F, F/M, Foot Fetish, M/F, challenge: kink_bingo, f/f - Freeform, over 1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemposoi/pseuds/Lempo%20Soi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily discovers a new dimension in her love of fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clack

Andy closed the door behind her quietly, which reminded Emily of the way her sister had closed the door when they'd both been called in by her mother to explain this or that infraction. Emily, for her part, had slammed the door and reached for a cigarette, all black mascara and defiance.

Now she found herself staring at Andy wordlessly across the desk, her foot swinging restlessly from side to side. The lights were already out in most of the building. She'd just come back for her pocket calendar.

"Emily," Andy started awkwardly, "what you saw back there..."

"I know what I saw," Emily said quickly. "It's none of my business. I just didn't know you and Nigel were that way. Wasn't he gay, anyway?"

"I think he's bi. I never asked. And we're just friends, really."

"You stomp on all your friends' faces while they touch themselves?"

Now Andy looked annoyed. "It's just play, all right? It's not like we have sex. He likes my feet. I like it that he likes my feet. It's not that unusual."

"Listen," Emily said, grabbing her calendar and flipping through it angrily, "I know all about foot fetishism, trust me. You can't work in this business without running into people who want to lick your shoes. It's just the order of the day. But keep it in your own home, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Emily. It's just that, well, this is where all the shoes are."

Emily blew air out through her nose and slammed the calendar shut. Why was she so angry, anyway? "They're not there to be your sex toys! God!"

"Emily..." Andy's eyes grew moist. She had such large, lovely eyes, like a puppy. She made Emily anxious, tight like a bowstring, and left her feeling like hitting something. "Please don't tell Miranda, okay? It's not just me, it's Nigel too."

"I'll bet you everything Miranda already knows," muttered Emily, "if she's likely to care at all."

"But you care. Don't you?" Andy sat on the edge of Emily's desk. "I want you to forgive us, then. Will you?"

"What's the point? You'll just do it again." She felt she should stand up and leave, but she didn't. "Won't you?"

"Not if you don't want us to."

"Really?"

"Promise." Andy flicked her hair behind her ear and smiled. God, she's so beautiful, Emily thought, and then realized why she was so angry.

*

Emily came to work the next day wearing the highest heels she owned, the ones that made her ankles hurt by afternoon. She sat down, crossed her legs and glanced across the room to Andy, who always made it to the office before her these days, but Andy was on the phone writing down a note.

Emily booted her computer and dropped her memo, cursing as she twisted to pick it up, and so missed Andy's eyes wandering up from the note and the flush of recognition in her eye.

*

"We have a meeting with Montgomery at five and there's an interview with a new photographer at 6:30," Andy said, handing a revised schedule to Emily, who took it and inspected it quickly as they walked together down the hallway from the studio towards the dressing rooms. "Are you flirting with me?"

"What was that?" Emily's head snapped up and she glared at Andy.

"Don't give me that look," said Andy with a grin. "Those shoes, after last night? Bending over to rub your ankles? You're showing your feet off to me."

"I am not," said Emily, and quickened her pace, though her ankles ached and her face was flaming red.

Andy hurried up along with her, still grinning. The hallway was empty right at this junction, at this moment when the shoot was going on and there wouldn't be a costume change for another ten poses, so when Andy caught Emily around the waist and pushed her against the wall Emily just closed her eyes and prayed it would stay that way.

*

The leather armchair squeaked under Emily as she lifted her legs up, her short skirt riding up her thighs, past the tops of her stay-ups, showing her black embroidered panties. Emily's heart was racing. "You did lock the door, right?" she asked a second time.

Andy nodded slowly, holding up each of Emily's feet by the ball of the foot, sliding her fingers along the sides of Emily's shoes. They were black, too, with the classic tip and soft velvet covering with barely visible, upward-curling patterns.

Andy slipped one shoe off slowly. Emily could feel her toes tingling. Andy slid her fingertips along the table of her foot, her red-painted mouth curled in a fascinated smile. "It's beautiful," she said, and kissed Emily's big toe through the pantyhose. She ran her fingers under Emily's foot and it felt like an electric shock. Emily gasped.

It felt like a tickle, but instead of making her laughing or curl away, It made Emily's whole body tense and her toes curl inwards as the feeling of it shook her. No caress had ever felt quite so powerful. At least, not until Andy began to pull the pantyhose off. It tickled more as it slid off her skin, across her leg, calf, the bottom of her foot.

Then Andy's mouth was on her exposed toes, her other hand tugging off Emily's other shoe, and Emily begged for Andy to fuck her.

"No," Andy whispered, and rolled her tongue around Emily's smallest toe.

*

"Don't think I don't know what's going on," said Miranda in an aside as she flipped through the memo.

Emily was already half out the door, but she stiffened and turned around guiltily, more subdued than she'd ever been with any authority figure before she'd met Miranda. "I assumed you did, Miranda," she said meekly. "Is it a problem?"

"Just don't get any nasty stuff on the display shoes," Miranda said, not looking up from the memo.

"No, Miranda," said Emily. "We bring our own."

"Good." Miranda lay the memo on the table and took off her glasses, regarding Emily thoughtfully, her red-painted fingernails on her chin. "Never thought you of all people would join the crowd. Oh well. You may go."

Emily turned to go, her whole frame quivering with joy.


End file.
